


Three Days on the Rack

by keerawa, reena_jenkins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Afterlife, Amnesia, Audio Format: M4B, Audio Format: MP3, Community: pod-together, Dark, Dark Dean Winchester, Dealfic, Demon Dean Winchester, Hell, M/M, Objectification, Podfic, Season/Series 03-04 Hiatus, Shaving Kink, Sibling Incest, Silence Kink, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-09
Updated: 2011-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-21 05:04:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/pseuds/keerawa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/reena_jenkins/pseuds/reena_jenkins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been months, but Sam finally found a crossroads demon willing to Deal to get Dean’s soul out of Hell.  The Deal sounded too good to be true.  Sam took it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Days on the Rack

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Три дня на дыбе](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1658381) by [Savannah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savannah/pseuds/Savannah)
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Three Days on the Rack/三日受难](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5529716) by [Rei_snd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rei_snd/pseuds/Rei_snd)



> **Challenge:** Created collaboratively by reena_jenkins and keerawa for the [2011 pod_together challenge](http://pod-together.livejournal.com/profile/).  
>  **Written by:** keerawa  
>  **Performed by:** reena_jenkins  
>  **Beta’ed by:** dante_s_hell  
>  **Cover Art by:** reena_jenkins (using screencaps found via Google Images, and set atop some amazing stockart ([Rose Hall](http://fractalangel-stock.deviantart.com/gallery/?offset=72#/dtj7u8)) created by [FractalAngel](http://fractalangel-stock.deviantart.com/))  
>  **Disclaimers:** The characters of Supernatural belong to the CW. The music in the podfic is from Apocalyptica's cover of Metallica's 'Fade to Black', off the album _**Inquisition Symphony**_.
> 
> This story was designed as a performance piece. We strongly recommend that you listen to Reena's podfic (found below).

If you don't feel like streaming the podfic as you read, why not download the podfic of Three Days On The Rack as either an [**MP3 file**](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2011podfic/SPN-Three%20Days%20by%20keerawa%20and%20reena_jenkins.mp3) or as an [**M4B file**](http://pod-together.parakaproductions.com/2011podfic/SPN-Three%20Days%20by%20keerawa%20and%20reena_jenkins.m4b)?

 

* * *

“I’ve got something special for you,” Alastair hissed, curling black and thick around the new soul on Dean’s rack.

“Special how?” Dean asked, inspecting his tools to make sure that no one had touched them since he’d cleaned them after yesterday’s mess. He’d broken hundreds of souls for Alastair. Dean ripped them apart, one after another. The original thrill had worn thin. It was too easy.

“This boy made a Deal,” Alastair told him. “All he has to do is last three days in Hell without speaking, and he can go home with what he came for.”

Dean shook his head. That sounded like one of Crowley’s Deals. Humans never did read the fine-print.

“Of course, if he does speak, he’s ours forever,” Alastair continued, “And I don’t think anyone mentioned to him that three days topside is a year down here in the Pit.” There was a metallic rattle as the figure on the rack tested its restraints.

“He’s all yours, Dean-o. Take your time. Enjoy yourssself.” Alastair’s voice offered slick, dark pleasures.

Dean licked his lips. He’d asked Alastair for a chance to prove himself, a real challenge, a master-work. This was it. Alastair hadn’t given him much information. Usually Dean knew all about a soul’s life, their family, exactly what they’d done to end up on his rack. That kind of knowledge let him find a soul’s weak spots. Without it – he’d just have to improvise.

Alastair twisted away so that Dean could examine the soul stretched out naked and vulnerable on his rack. The body was tall and strong, belonging to a male in his twenties. Definitely Dean’s type. Hazel eyes, fixed on Dean, were shocked, half-broken already. Something about him was almost familiar.

“Do I know this one?” Dean asked absently, considering the best way to begin; hoping the soul wouldn’t break too quick.

“You will,” Alastair said with a chuckle that raked down the remnants of Dean’s soul. Then he flowed away to give them some privacy.

Dean brushed long brown hair out of the kid’s face. It flopped back down over its eyes. Dean grabbed at the bangs, snatched up his Bowie knife and slashed through the strands. It was over before the soul could react, tensing against the shackles. Dean put the knife down precisely in its place of honor among his instruments. He held up the handful of hair in front of the kid’s face. With a tiny effort of will, the hairs began to smolder, and then burst into flame. Dean opened his hand and let the curling, burning strands drift down to settle on the soul’s bare chest. The stink of burning hair was heavy in the air.

“I _will_ break you,” Dean promised him.

The kid’s eyes narrowed angrily.

“There’s no shame in it,” Dean said matter-of-factly. “Everyone breaks, sooner or later. I’ll hurt you in ways you can’t imagine. I’ll skin you alive, burn out your eyes, cut off your dick and choke you with it. Then I’ll put you back together and do something worse the next day. I’m Alastair’s best.” Dean didn’t bother to hide the pride in his voice. The soul had gone pale.

“The question isn’t _if_ you’ll break. It’s just a matter of when. So whatever you were hoping to get out of your Deal? Whatever you _thought_ was worth offering yourself up on a platter for? You are never gonna see it. Might as well give in now, avoid all that suffering. Come on, one little word. Tell me … tell me your name.”

Dean found himself leaning forwards, wanting to hear the answer. Then he had to jerk backwards to avoid a head butt. Dean laughed. It echoed oddly around his workroom. “I like you, kid. This is gonna be fun. Well, for me, anyway. See you tomorrow.”

Dean left the soul in the dark with its imagination and the screams of the Damned, while he made plans.

* * *

  
The next day the kid blinked at the sudden light and watched Dean as he checked over his instruments. Dean cast an appreciative eye over the soul’s form. This assignment was a test, but it might also be a reward from Alastair.

Dean reached out and tugged gently on the kid’s bangs. The kid twitched away, smacking his head against the rack, and then swallowed at a realization.

“Told you,” Dean said with a wink. “No matter what I do to you, the next morning you’ll be back fresh as a daisy. It’s not like upstairs. There’s no escaping into death. Not for long, anyway. The pain only stops when I want it to stop. Sure you don’t want to make this easy on yourself?”

The soul clenched its jaw stubbornly.

Dean grinned. “The hard way it is. Don’t worry, we’ll start off nice and slow today. Gotta get to know each other, right?”

Dean carefully examined the soul’s form that day, cataloguing every inch and reaction. Anything he could use. The soul tensed when Dean was behind it, craning its neck to see him. Its body was muscular, but too lean. Seemed like it’d lost weight recently. The hands were calloused and scarred, bearing marks of gun, knife, and hand-to-hand combat. Dean would’ve guessed at a military background, if it hadn’t been for that ridiculous hair.

Dean traced seventeen scars scattered across the skin, insensitive to touch except for the one near the base of its spine. The soul strained against its shackles when Dean touched that one. The back of the knees and soles of the feet were ticklish. The kid’s dick twitched when Dean brushed a hand across either nipple, but recoiled from a soft stroke up the crease of its ass.

“You a virgin, sweetheart?” Dean asked. “I’ll take care of that for you.” Gang-rape was enough to break plenty of souls, especially if some of the demons with less-human forms were invited, but Alastair had given this soul to Dean, and he didn’t want to share.

Dean delicately explored musculature and nerves, tendons and ligaments. The left wrist and shoulder were somewhat inflexible, indications of old injuries. By the time he was done for the day, the kid was shivering and covered in a cold sweat, tensed against sensations that Dean had never quite allowed to slip into pain.

“Tomorrow,” Dean promised it, and left the soul alone with the screams in the dark.

* * *

The next day Dean frowned over his instruments. None of them felt quite right. This would be his first time with this soul, and it should be special. He didn’t want anything coming between him and the kid, not even his favorite Bowie knife. Dean turned away from the table empty-handed, and the soul, which had been anxiously watching him, sagged against the rack in relief.

“Sleep well, sweetheart?” Dean asked. The soul rolled its eyes and Dean grinned. He sat down on the stone floor and the rack obligingly sank down beside him.

Dean picked up the soul’s left hand where it emerged from the shackle and began kneading the knots he’d noticed yesterday in the thick muscle at the base of the thumb. Once they were smoothed away he caressed over the knuckles and then cradled the kid’s hand against his cheek while brushing his thumb slowly back and forth across the sensitive skin inside its wrist. The soul’s pulse gradually slowed. Dean gently stretched out its fingers and massaged the palm. He glanced over and saw that the kid’s eyes were half-closed.

Dean snapped the bone of the smallest finger. The soul shrieked, the noise bitten off before it could become a word. Dean twisted the finger, letting bone grate against bone. The kid jerked, but didn’t make a sound.

“Remember,” Dean said. “If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say the word.” He waited for a moment. The soul glared at him. “No? Okay then, let’s get this party started.” Dean quickly broke the other fingers on that hand, then stood up and stomped on it, grinding the heel of his boot into skin, tissue, and bone and earning himself a nice scream. He dislocated the left shoulder, then straddled the kid and gave it a good old-fashioned beat-down.

The soul’s nose was broken and its right eye was swelling closed when it passed out. Dean paused.

“Hey,” he called softly. “Wake up.” The kid’s one working eye opened slowly. “Good,” Dean crooned. “Stay with me, now.”

Once the soul had blinked its way to awareness, Dean went back to work. A series of nerve strikes did no real damage, just made the kid writhe perfectly against Dean’s hard cock. He’d meant to wait another day to fuck this soul, but impulse-control never was his thing. Dean sucked on two fingers, got them nice and wet, and shoved them in the kid’s ass. It cried out, tried to pull away.

“You want me to stop?” Dean said hurriedly, wanting inside that tight heat. “Just tell me. You know I’ll stop if you tell me.” He realized he was panting, and held his breath waiting for the soul’s answer. It looked away. Dean held still, cock throbbing, ready to shove inside. He needed to see its eyes when he did this. Finally the soul turned back to him, its one good eye wet and full. A single tear spilled out of the other eye, the one that had swollen shut, and trailed down its cheek. Dean groaned and pushed forwards into that tiny hole, encouraged by a pained grunt from the soul. It was too tight and dry. The friction hurt, but Dean liked pain, and blood slicked the way soon enough.

The soul had gone still; gaze dull and distant as it retreated inside itself. Dean clawed a bloody gouge down the soul’s stomach, digging in with nails suddenly inhumanly long and sharp. The kid gave a quick, shocked gasp, hitched in a breath, and let it out on a ragged sob.

“That’s it,” Dean moaned to the battered, sobbing, beautiful soul as it struggled beneath him. Dean brought his claws up to his face and licked at the blood. Oh, that tasted sweet. “That’s it. Fucking gorgeous like this. Tight little hole around my cock. Hurts real bad, doesn’t it? You gonna tell me to stop? Don’t. Don’t. Want this. Want you. So fucking much.”

Thrusting hard and fast; tiny hurt noises from the soul that wouldn’t, couldn’t say no to him - Dean was close, but he needed just a little more. He reached out for the soul’s hand and grabbed it, broken bones grinding and crushing within his grip. The soul screamed with a pure agony that shamed the Damned to silence. Dean came hard, his cock pulsing deep inside the soul as it went limp under him.

Dean collapsed down onto the soul and rested there. He didn’t … he didn’t know it was possible for a good feeling to fill you up the same way pain did. Eventually he pulled out and stretched. Dean fetched the cloths he used for polishing his blades and wiped away the blood, snot, and tears on the soul’s face, revealing deep purple bruising. He tenderly pushed the kid’s nose back to true, and sat there, running his hand through its damp hair.

It was his job to break this soul, and Dean didn’t dare fail. But there was no rush. He had a year. And he didn’t want this assignment to end.

* * *

Dean introduced the soul to all of his instruments, day by day. His Bowie knife and other blades. Branding irons. The cat and the bullwhip. Hooks and needles. Hellfire to burn. Hell ice to freeze and shatter. Acid. A dozen kinds of venom. Blunt instruments for smashing bones and ones so sharp a soul could bleed out without feeling the cut.

Then there were the subtler tortures – too much pleasure, over and over, to the point of pain and back again. Or almost, nearly, not quite enough; Dean holding the soul on the edge for hours and then pushing it over with a hot stab of pain, leaving it shaking and grateful.

The kid was incredibly responsive. Other souls broke, retreated to unconsciousness or madness, slipped away where Dean couldn’t touch them. Not this one. Not this soul. With a single word from Dean, a little encouragement, the soul was right with him again, feeling it all. Dean showed it, gave it everything he could, heights of agony and ecstasy he’d never been able to share with any other soul.

“Focus,” Dean said, his hand buried inside the soul’s open rib cage. Dazed, tear-filled eyes snapped back to his face.

“Ready for more?”

The kid took a shallow breath. Dean felt it from the inside. A cautious nod.

Dean pushed his hand deeper inside the body cavity, eyes locked with the soul. “Almost there. You’re doing good. Just a little more.” There. Under his outstretched fingertips, the frantic beat of the soul’s heart.

Fuck. Dean was dizzy with it, dry-mouthed. He never even imagined he could do this; that a soul could stay so calm and still through the pain, trust him enough for this.

“Isn’t that a pretty picture,” interrupted Alastair’s oily voice.

The kid recoiled, snarling at the demon. Inside, the broken tip of a rib pierced something vital. Dean pulled his arm out as quickly and carefully as he could. He pushed slippery viscera back into the gaping chest wound, but the damage was done. The soul convulsed, wheezing, unable to breathe. Within minutes it was gone.

Dean, speechless with rage, reached out and threw the table of his instruments into the far wall. Objects clattered, bounced, smashed, and fell into the mess on the rack and the floor.

“Don’t come in here when I’m working,” Dean eventually choked out.

Alastair swept forward, coils of smoke sinking into the open wound between the soul’s ribs, tasting what he had no right to. “Now, my boy. I’ve been perfectly happy to let you play with this soul, and I appreciate the craftsmanship you’ve shown. But we _do_ have a deadline with this one, and it’s just two days away. Are you sure you don’t want my help? Or Meg’s, perhaps? After so much time with no one but you touching it, another demon could be just what’s needed to – ”

“No,” Dean interrupted coolly. “You saw how it reacted to you. Another demon would just make it fight harder.” Dean projected pure confidence. “The soul’s giving in to me. It’s close to breaking. Just let me do my job, Alastair.”

Alastair slipped away without a word. Dean got to work, putting the room back in order. He cleaned, sharpened, and found replacements for everything he’d broken. Everything had to be perfect for tomorrow’s session.

* * *

Dean was waiting the next day when the soul opened its eyes. “Rise and shine, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ve got plans for you today.”

The soul arched an eyebrow at him, but there was a tiny smile there, underneath.

Dean checked over his instruments and chose a simple pair of scissors. He sat down on the rack by the soul’s head and started cutting the long, shaggy hair. The soul relaxed into the gentle touches, letting Dean turn its head one way, then the other until there was nothing left of its hair but a bristle of stubble. Dean put down the scissors and sluiced warm water over the kid’s head, protecting its eyes with his other hand.

Dean picked up a straight razor next. The soul took a deep breath and let it out, centering down and looking Dean in the eye, ready for the pain to start.

“I’m not gonna hurt you today,” Dean informed the soul. “Not unless you ask me to.”

The soul’s forehead wrinkled with confusion. Dean chuckled and ran the straight razor along the dome of its head, removing the last of the hair, careful not to even crease the skin. When he was done with its head he wet and shaved across the soul’s cheeks and down its throat, ignoring the pleading little whimpers. He pulled the razor away completely when the little bitch tried to push against the edge.

“You want something?” Dean said. “Then ask for it.”

The kid stared up at him, then shook its head in a fierce no.

“Your choice, sweetheart.”

Dean continued shaving the soul’s body. Chest hair fell away, then the thick, musky hair from under its arms. The treasure trail was scraped away, Dean carefully moving the soul’s thick cock out of the path of the blade, not reacting to its gasp. Dean stopped to sharpen the blade, the soft sound of the razor on the strop comforting over the kid’s fast, hard breaths. He shaved away the curling hair at the soul’s groin and started on the balls. Once done there he moved to the thighs. There was a deep groan of disappointment from above. Dean smiled.

Once the soul’s body was entirely clean-shaven, Dean picked up a soft, warm damp cloth and wiped down every inch of its skin. He spent a little extra time on the kid’s nipples, on that sensitive patch behind its ear, and the cut of its hip. Dean blew across the wet tip of its erect, straining cock. The soul gasped and arched up towards his mouth.

“What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to suck you? Cut you? Fuck you? I’ll do it. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what you want.”

The soul looked down at him, eyes frantic. It licked its lips, and then shook its head no.

“Stubborn,” Dean said. “I always liked that about you. Let’s see just how stubborn you can be.”

By the end of the day, the only blood that had been shed was when the soul bit through its own lip to hold back the words.

“See you tomorrow,” Dean said as he shut off the lights and left the soul to the screams of the Damned. He only had one more day. But it would be enough. He’d brought the soul right to the limit of its endurance today. Tomorrow it would just take a tiny push to tip it over.

* * *

The next day, when Dean tried to enter his workshop, Meg and two of her pet demons blocked the door.

“Out of my way,” he ordered.

“I don’t think so,” Meg said with a smirk. “Looks like Alastair’s golden boy finally fucked up. Didja go easy on this soul, Dean? Show a little _mercy_?” she sneered.

“What? No! Let me through, Meg. I’ve got the kid ready to break. I just need, like, ten minutes with it,” Dean said frantically.

“Too late. Alastair’s already in there. He’s gonna break that precious little soul himself, and then I get you on my rack for some remedial training.”

Dean tried to push past the demons and found himself pinned to the far wall. “Alastair,” he called out. “Alastair! You’re not gonna break that soul with pain!” It might have worked at the beginning, but not now. Not after Dean had spent a year training it to take everything he could dish out. “Kid! Just give it up, say something! Anything! Come on!”

“They can’t hear you,” Meg sing-songed gleefully. “You can go back to your quarters, if you want. Or you can stay here; listen to how a real demon breaks a soul. But you’re not getting in there until Alastair’s done.”

Dean slumped down against the wall. He listened to the crack of the bullwhip, over and over. Shivered at the memory of Alastair’s whip wrapping around his neck to gouge his eye. The kid’s yelps escalated to wordless screams. Over the hours the screams went wet and quiet, fell to whimpers and then nothing.

Alastair roared, and there was a dull, explosive _fwump_. Alastair streamed out of Dean’s workroom, smashing everything around him against the walls like a tornado. Meg disappeared after him. Dean picked himself up and limped into his workroom.

There were only five liters of blood in the average human body, but it always looked like more. All that was left of that beautiful soul was puddled on the floor, painting the walls, even dripping from the ceiling. The room reeked of charred flesh. Dean’s instruments were a smoldering, molten lump in the corner. Only his rack remained, pristine and ready for a new soul. Dean kicked at the rack, over and over; kicked it to bits. He gathered everything he could find of the kid into a pile on the floor and curled protectively around it.

He’d screwed up. Dean should have broken the kid as quick as he could. It would’ve been better for everyone. Instead, he’d drawn it out, wanting every single day he could get of that soul, the way it looked at him, its screams and tears and smiles. He’d planned to break it on the last day. Then – well, his assignment would be done, but he’d still get to see the kid, maybe. The souls he’d broken were pretty clingy. But he’d left it too late, and lost everything.

Dean glanced at soul’s remains. It was already looking nearly human, the skeleton reformed and sprouting flesh. Soon the soul would be healed, and it would wake up. One year. Three days. Deal done, bet won, the soul would disappear from his workroom and appear topside with whatever it’d thought was worth a trip to Hell.

The kid might not even remember him. Might only remember his last day, the one with Alastair. That was the first thing Dean remembered. The day Alastair had broken him, then shredded him for taking too long. This soul, though, it hadn’t broken, so maybe it wouldn’t remember anything of Hell. Wiped clean, like it never happened. That’d be good. But Dean didn’t … he didn’t want the kid to forget him.

The soul was stirring now, muscles knitting back together, shivering as skin covered the meat. It moaned. Dean pulled the soul up to its knees, held it close, and brushed the hair out of its face. Familiar. So familiar. Words flowed out of him.

“Hey, look at me. It’s not even that bad. You’re gonna be good as new. I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna take you care of you. I’ve got you. That’s my job, right?” Its eyes were fluttering. “Don’t leave me alone here,” Dean begged. “Don’t. Not again. Come on, say something, Sammy!”

Sam opened his eyes. “Dean,” his voice scraped out of a raw throat. “I won’t. Won’t leave you, I promise.”

Sam’s mouth tasted like blood, and ashes, and love.

**Author's Note:**

> **Reena's Notes**
> 
> I suppose this is the part where I ramble on a bit about the podfic, right? Okay, here goes:  
> The audiofic linked above is my contribution to the [2011 pod_together challenge](http://pod-together.livejournal.com/profile/). The challenge was an incredible idea, and I think it worked out really well! Although, I suppose that extra thanks and hugs need to go out to keerawa's half of our partnership, for putting up with my occasional lapses in brainpower throughout the months we were working together. They were amazingly awesome and very accommodating of the fact that I was moving during much of the challenge (yes, I know, I really shouldn't have signed up for a podficcing project while in the middle of moving... Wanna hear a funny story? I originally submitted a final draft of the podfic to the challenge's mods, only to realize that it was a final draft of a rough draft - I had forgotten to download keerawa's most recently edited draft of Three Days, and so needed to rerecord the story from scratch. And I only realized this moment of epic failtasticness _the night submissions were due._ Let's just say, I've learned my lesson about biting off more than I can chew...) keerawa had some incredibly helpful things to say about the recordings I made (which I think added to the emotionally evocative aspects of the reading in some key places) and wrote an eerily chilling and brain-twistingly awesome story for me to perform, based off a few suggestions on my part and several brilliant plotbunnies of their own.
> 
> And, yes, it should be noted - this fic is a little bit darker than my usual podficular tastes, but keerawa knew just how to straddle the line between _violence for the sake of violence_ and _just enough violence to drive the point home_ \- and, the story is something I could definitely imagine fitting into the Dean's-time-in-Hell shaped space in Supernatural canon.  Three Days is dark and gritty enough to be realistically Hellish, but still has that core of obsession/compulsion/erotic codependence between Dean and his brother - even when he doesn't recognize him. Even when Dean is essentially soulless, and acting as Alastair's protege, he still only has eyes for Sam....and that warms the cockles of my little Wincest-shipping heart. And, the ending! I was absolutely enthralled by the end of Three Days. SO AWESOME.
> 
> You should know, dear listeners, that this podfic was the very first recording made at my new house, and as such, I haven't quite worked out all the kinks in regards to noise-cancellation. Sorry for the few outside noises that made it through all my various filters... So, that's that. Hope you had an an enthralling time reading Three Days, as well as an enjoyable listening experience when you download the podfic. Thanks for stopping by, and have a nice day!
> 
>    
>  **keerawa's Notes**
> 
> This may be the darkest, most fucked-up love story I've ever written.
> 
> I was delighted to be able to collaborate with Reena Jenkins on the [pod_together challenge](http://pod-together.livejournal.com/profile/), to create something that was designed to be experienced as a podfic, rather than written and later incidentally recorded. I started by sending Reena what was essentially a long survey about her interests, abilities, and squicks as a reader. The pieces of mine that she'd chosen to podfic previously were some of my darkest, and we settled on a fairly vicious plot bunny about Amnesiac!Demon!Dean being responsible for torturing Sam in Hell.
> 
> Reena picked the music to use to separate the 'days' in this piece. (Performer picks the music; writer shuts their cakehole.) Her choice, Apocalyptica's instrumental cover of Metallica's 'Fade to Black', is truly inspired. It's canon that Dean, when he's scared, hums Metallica. So I imagine Sam, down in Hell each night, defiantly humming Metallica. The musical interludes are Sam's reply to Dean's actions each day, his wordless reminder to himself of why he's doing this. I think the music also helps build the energy of the piece, day to day, through the climax.
> 
> After I'd written and revised the story, Reena created a 'rough draft' podfic for me to listen to. I went through and made extensive notes on the recording. I've directed a few plays, and this felt VERY much like that, giving actors notes on their performance for them to incorporate the next day. I like to play with unreliable narrators, and there were several points in this story (such as the "Don't" during Sam's rape) where I told Reena about an emotional reaction Dean was feeling, that wasn't explicit in the text, because he wasn't aware of it himself. I hoped she could convey those emotions to the audience. And she pulled it off _perfectly_. It's not necessarily a story to be enjoyed, but I hope you found the podfic as compelling to listen to as I did!


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